Chances are you’ve at some point known or worked with someone who has endured a significant personal crisis. Perhaps it was a nasty divorce, a life-threatening personal or family illness, the loss of a spouse or child, or a similar life event that turned their world upside down.

I lost my father to a heart attack just weeks after I turned 17 years old and days before I started my senior year of high school. I can still remember the numbness I felt as I went to school that fall, surrounded by friends whose lives were blissfully unchanged while my own was irreversibly altered. But as difficult as it was, I persevered. It could even be argued that it was easy for me to move forward simply because I still had my entire life before me. But I doubt I considered that at the time. No, I persevered because there was simply nothing else I could do. I couldn’t reverse or change what had happened. Like it or not, I could only adapt and move on.

As bystanders – family, friends, and co-workers, we admire the strength of those who have suffered tragedy and yet are somehow able to keep going. Because we can only imagine their grief and anxiety, we marvel at their ability to continue doing the simplest of daily activities and can hardly understand how they’re able to keep coming to work or to class. The fact is, like me at age 17, they do it because there is simply nothing else they can do. They adapt and move on because there is no other option. They have no choice. Bills still have to be paid, mouths still have to be fed – the responsibilities of life don’t stop.

It’s human nature to sympathize with people in these situations, and there is nothing wrong with that. But I think it’s easy to confuse sympathy with admiration, and there is an important distinction between the two. At the risk of sounding coldhearted, to admire someone who continues to live and work after a tragedy is like admiring a sailor who swims after his boat sinks. Do we admire him for not giving up and drowning? Do we admire his courage? Truth be told, most of us probably do; after all, we’re inspired by stories of perseverance and love to cheer for the underdog. But again, what choice does he have? He can swim and live or he can sink and die – not much of a choice. It’s a simplistic comparison, but I think it relevant nonetheless.

The point I want to make is we have such a natural inclination to admire those who overcome tragedy, we often let it cloud the rest of our judgment about the individual. Specifically, it’s easy to confuse what we perceive as personal fortitude with the reality of professional effectiveness. Surely we’re inclined to assess the individual’s performance more generously in light of the adversity they’ve faced, and this is certainly the right thing to do temporarily while the person heals. After all, no one can be expected to perform at full capacity either during or in the aftermath of a personal crisis. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the tendency to allow our permanent perception of the individual to be skewed due to whatever past tragedy they’ve endured – confusing their fortitude and resilience in moving on with their ongoing effectiveness in their job.

In short, personal fortitude is ultimately no substitute for, and is indeed in this context only marginally related to, good performance. It’s not for me to say how long a person should be allowed to recover from a crisis. That depends on the individual, situation, and circumstances. However, regardless of whatever tragedy the individual has suffered in the past (or even presently endures), eventually his or her performance and professional effectiveness must be judged on its merit. We can admire their strength and perseverance, but that alone is a poor substitution for meaningful achievement.